Hearing Ho! And no, I did NOT misspell the title. The extra 'a' makes it better. ...Somehow.

Flautist

by sagewolf

One of the musicians in the corner of the inn was playing a flute.

From Cass's own limited knowledge, it was a good flute, made of fine wood by a skilled craftsman. It was just too bad the instrumentalist wasn't so skilled. His playing was clumsy and halting, adding silences where notes should have been, missing the beat of the song, turning it in upon itself until what should have been a relaxing sonata was a near disaster, saved only by the harpist, fiddler and pianist accompanying him. That and the fact that the flautist didn't have the tune to play, but a second part. ...Harmony, she remembered. Nils had called that a harmony. Realistically, in this flautist's hands, it was anything but. Even the other members of his group were trying not to wince.

Cass knew. She'd heard a master not so long ago. His fingers had danced lightly over the holes in his instrument, where this one's lurched, a little too late or a little too early, the notes clashing with each other and disrupting the flow of the song. Each time it made Cass cringe, bringing to mind the songs Nils had played for their group.

Now and then, he had seemed out of time with the song too, but the changes he made only enhanced the flow of the music. Every time it had captivated her, so much so that she'd eventually had to ask him not to play during battles, no matter what its effect on the troops was. Not once had she ever managed to break away before the last note faded into the still air. Every single time... she had been content to drift on the music's current for as long as he was content to play.

It had not been the sort of reaction she had expected from herself. She'd never been a musical person; she had neither the aptitude for any instrument nor a voice suited for song. When she had been younger, studying strategy and tactics and terrain and weaponry, the flow of music had passed her by, as if she were in a boat on the surface of a river. Its beauty had not been completely lost on her, but it had never touched her, not once, not really. But then, all the music she had heard had been much like that which she was hearing now: tavern hall music, not without its charms, but incomparable to the product of a master.

And Nils had been a master. His songs had swamped and capsized her little boat from the first note, immersing her in the currents of his songs. Entire orchestras had failed to achieve the simple, pure, enveloping presence that his single flute possessed. Even a short ditty from him during a battle had been enough to persuade a soldier that they could continue on for hours, forgetting exhaustion, illness or any but the most dire wounds. In those instances, it had been a clarion call to the army, the equal of any bright horn.

But it was in the evenings that he had excelled. Then he-- and everyone else-- had been able to concentrate on the songs, and he would produce music to make even Jaffar and Karel stop by his fire and listen. At first, Cass had entertained thoughts of ignoring it, but it had found its way into her. Whether she thought she had the time or not, each night she found herself near him, listening to his songs. All of them were his, too, and his alone. He never played a single song she was able to recognize from a tavern or a ballroom. Everything he played came straight from him, from whatever part of him connected with his flute to produce melodies. That part of Nils had connected with some part of Cass she hadn't known existed; hell, it probably hadn't known it existed. A part that heard more than just a tune or a song: heard a sentiment or a story or a memory, safeguarded by notes and silences and carefully kept time.

Eliwood had told her, eventually, that Ninian always danced to her brother's tunes. That came as a surprise. Cass had never seen a single dance. Oh, she may have looked at one, once or twice, just as some nights she looked at the fire or the sky, or at him as he played, the way he bent his head and closed his eyes. She never saw them, though: while he was playing, the music was all that existed. Excluding the world had been his ability alone. None of his songs were played to be half-listened to. They'd grasped her and pulled her in. Even now, the melodies stayed with her, indelibly etched into her brain.

Especially the dance tune. Ah, damn that tune: now it was stuck in her head again and making her foot twitch. Its effect the first time had been far more powerful, and, in her opinion, a deliberate piece of mischief. Somewhere along the route to Bern, Nils had noticed that, of everyone in the camp, Cass--apparently, only Cass--was there for all his songs and performances, no matter what it was he played.

So, one night, he'd played that dance tune for her. He had given it no introduction and had stripped away whatever introduction it may have given itself. Instead, he had gone straight into the leaping, merry tide of the dance, leaving her no defense and no time to become accustomed to the energy of the song. She'd been grinning then, too, when he'd gotten up and played standing right in front of her, jumping around her until she'd given in and danced with him, spinning, leaping, jumping with the enchanting cadence of his music. It was seconds, minutes, hours-- who cared, anyway?-- before she'd fallen down. Her dancing skills were no better than her instrumental ones. Dazed and embarrassed, she'd laughed, softly, then uncontrollably, before she heard his song shudder and stop as he joined in with her, his voice like the peal of bells, rising and falling with hers in a delightful, shared harmony. Of all the time she'd spent with the army, all eight long months, that night survived most vividly in her memory. Bizarrely, she couldn't remember if others had watched or joined in-- only the sound of Nils's laugh and his voice as he apologized for making her fall, and her own muted reply as she brushed it aside, thanked him for the song.

Afterward, Eliwood, his voice uncharacteristically coy, had called it love. Nonsense, Cass had told him. It was just the music. If she'd suspected Nils's secret or known all along, somehow, that he would leave eventually, that had nothing to do with her answer or her feelings: it wasn't Nils, but his art that she responded to. Nothing more, she'd said. Eliwood had listened politely to the lie, heard the truth underneath, and had the tact to remain silent. But then, she hadn't been lying to Eliwood. Lying, yes-- but not to him. She wondered sometimes how a person could be as smart as her and yet still so utterly stupid. Everything was just so damn obvious, seen from the wrong side of time.

And it had been obvious, too. On nights when Cass was unhappy, he had played joyful melodies. When she was fatigued, his song had always lifted and supported her-- as if he had played for her all along. There had always been a warmth in Nils's voice when they'd spoken, so like his sister's when she spoke with Eliwood-- and just as hesitant and unsure. Before she'd met him, her own speech had always sounded a little odd in her ears, as if her voice had been made for shouting, and talking normally softened it too far. A laugh from her mouth had been utterly alien to her. What business did a tactician--a dealer of death-- have laughing, after all? Around him, though, the same laugh sounded natural, just another part of the melody they shared. The song that was theirs and theirs alone.Yes... They'd been close, for that short time, and yet--

...Too late now. What was done was done; what lost, lost. Their friendship remained. Her memories too, for what they were worth.

Cass tilted her head toward the ceiling, fixed it with an unseeing stare, and fell once more into the currents of the music, letting them carry her back.

The only way they flowed.


Yay! I wrote chapter four, I FINALLY got some form of this bloody pairing down on digital paper, and I got the music plotbunny out of my head! For a while.

This was actually harder to write than it probably looks-- describing the effect of music was difficult to do accurately. There are times when language lets you down. I've been wanting to do a music-themed piece for a while, but I couldn't make it work until this came along. It was hard to do without any technical terms too. Half the point of this is that Cass knows very little about music, so I couldn't have her going on about crescendo and legato and forte-- indeed, anything technical-- when she talked about Nils's playing. So that's why it's so untechie. (I left the term 'rests' out: that's how untechie it is.) Instead I tried to get across the sense of experiencing music. Ah...I hope I did it well.

Four chapters done-- or, said another way, 80 of the fic! Only one more chapter to go-- I hope it lives up to standards. Thanks for staying with me-- see you at the end! More guesses-- for touch!

sagewolf out